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***

Once she finished washing herself with cold water, Inés returned to the bedroom to find Cárcel sitting at the foot of their bed, his head bowed low.

"Inés..."

"Why are you still in such a state?" Her tone held a sharp note of concern.

Slowly, he raised his head. Inés's brows furrowed immediately. "And what happened to your face?"

Despite having called out to her first, Cárcel offered no answer. He looked even worse than before, his bottom lip split, evidence of his father's heavy-handed wrath. His arm was shoddily wrapped in cloth over his dirtied clothes; his hand bore remnants of glass shards, still raw and unattended. She was well aware that Miguel's recent outbursts had left him battered, and that he had been naive enough to think he could hide it from her. But now, seeing him so visibly distressed made her insides twist.

This was different-she had never seen him in such a state, his usual composure torn away, that he didn't even attempt to hide his injuries from her.

With a quiet shake of her head, Inés left her bedroom. She could hear him follow her as she crossed the hallway into his bedroom, his hesitant footsteps shuffling behind as if he had done something wrong, unable to call out to her again. He faltered in the doorway, watching her open the dresser drawers.

"Bring some water while you're standing there, Escalante," she instructed curtly.

He stood still for a moment, as if startled by her sudden order. Or perhaps he was rattled by the way she called him by his surname, which was reserved for when she was angry with him. But when Inés took out the kit of medicines from the drawer and turned around to raise an eyebrow at him, Cárcel quickly grabbed a heavy jug of water with his good hand. It had handles on each side to carry with both hands, but the way he lifted it so easily with one hand was quite impressive.

"And a wash basin," she added.

Inés intended for him to put the jug down before picking up the basin, but he turned on his heel immediately and picked up the empty basin with his injured hand. Her head throbbed as she watched him. I suppose he does not care for his left hand at all, she thought to herself scathingly before sitting down by the table.

"How did you know this medicine was in my dresser, Inés?"

"Your wife is so obsessive that she went through all of your things every day."

"Oh," he murmured, his expression softening into a warm, almost boyish smile.

Inés gave him an exasperated look. She hadn't done so every day, of course. She had most definitely taken a day to look through everything in his room, so she didn't have room to blame him, but the way he blushed slightly as though she had done something truly romantic was ridiculous. This was not the time.

"How did you find time to do that when you are so busy?" he asked.

"You seem too busy yourself to be appalled by what I just told you."

"You've been so busy heading the household in my mother's stead. It delights me to hear that you were thinking of me even throughout all that."

"Think again. It should frighten you, that thought."

"The idea of you obsessing over me is hardly disturbing. It's adorable..." he murmured, leaning closer for a kiss. He seemed to have forgotten all about his guilt.

Inés pushed him away and said, "Remove your shirt."

"I can do it myself later, Inés. I thought talking to you took priority right now, so I put it off..."

It was clear that he hadn't put off dressing his wounds at all and had actually forgotten all about them in his hurry to speak to her. He most definitely seemed to think that he had too many excuses to make regarding him joining the war.

"Now," she commanded.

Cárcel looked down at his hand helplessly. It was cleaner than before, apparently having been washed once while she was bathing, and it wasn't bleeding as badly anymore, but the shards that had been roughly picked out had left behind gaping wounds.

The long slashing wound along his forearm was also a problem.

When he made no move to take off his shirt, Inés pulled her chair closer to him and began unbuttoning his shirt from the bottom. Cárcel let out a long breath.

"Mind yourself," she said firmly. "I won't indulge you tonight, even if you get hard. You look a mess."

"But I cannot help myself, Inés..." he sighed, attempting to brush his lips near hers.

"Stop angling for a kiss."

"But you touched me, and you're undressing me yourself..." he said with a helpless sigh as he grazed her earlobe. It was more of a ruse to divert her attention rather than him being genuinely riled up.

Inés continued her ministrations despite his attempts to distract her, undoing the cloth around his arm before carefully easing his shirt off his shoulders. Her gaze lingered on the fresh bruise above his collarbone. "Did you take a blow here as well?"

"I don't remember."

Whether it was from an object his father had thrown in his rage or a strike from Miguel as he had tried to pin him down, Cárcel shrugged as though he really did not remember. He had always seemed rather bad at lying, but seeing him like this reminded her that he, too, could hide the truth when it suited him.

Whatever the cause, it couldn't have been anything new, so Inés refrained from probing further. She gently drew his wounded arm free from his sleeve, revealing a sizable bruise he had sustained from a candlestick overlapped the cut. Beneath the dried blood, it seemed to extend further than she could see.

"Why did it have to be the same arm?"

"It's my left arm," he replied with a dismissive smile. "Practically useless."

"Why have you kept it for twenty-four years if it's so useless?" she retorted.

"At least my right side remains unharmed... It's much better to have the wounds be together, don't you think?"

"No. I resent your brother." Inés lowered her head, her words emerging in a hushed voice. "I know he isn't to blame, but every time you're hurt, I can't help but resent him."

Though they had grown faint over time, there were now so many bruises and wounds on her husband's body from holding back Miguel in his madness that she could no longer count them on her fingers. The wounds he had sustained today only added to that number.

"Inés."

"You aren't to blame either."

"Inés... Please, look at me."

She carefully trickled some water over the wound and bit down on her bottom lip instead of raising her head. "I considered it just once. What if Miguel were to marry Dolores? I couldn't help but think that, just once, as I left the dining room earlier. I know, I was thinking just like your father. I know all too well what a terribly wicked girl Dolores is, and I couldn't possibly recommend her to Miguel, but... And I know this isn't the time to be considering a new bride for Miguel in the first place. He still loves Viviana..."

"Inés..."

"But Cárcel, didn't you dread marrying me as well?"

Cárcel stiffened, as if caught off guard. He always froze whenever she brought up his past indiscretions.

Ignoring his reaction, Inés continued heavily, as if confessing to a great sin she had committed. "No matter how horrible you imagined our future together to be, you were willing to marry me from the start. Whether it was out of duty, responsibility, for House Escalante, or simply for your parents, you accepted it. I wondered if your brother could do the same for once..."

"Inés."

"This is your life we are talking about. Everything you father said was true. There are far more unfortunate couples all throughout Mendoza. Though it might seem horrifying and unbearable at first, he might be able to go on. We... we were like that too. Once we spent time together, it wasn't horrible at all, and actually quite all right. Though I am still a terribly wicked woman myself, I'm not as horrid as you imagined I would be, right?"

"You are terrifyingly adorable at times, so much that I want to bite down on you so hard that you would die. How dare you call yourself 'not as horrid' and 'quite all right.' Even you aren't allowed to speak about yourself in that manner, Inés."

"I know we aren't a good point of comparison. The two of us are... too strange."

"I wouldn't say that-"

"That isn't important right now."

"It is. Am I just an 'all right' and 'not so horrid' man to you even now?"

"Cárcel."

"You told me you were all right going at it like dogs with me," he whispered in a low, resentful tone as he leaned in to try and get a kiss from her.

Inés pushed him away again and replied in an irritated manner, "All right, I do like you. I like you as well, Cárcel, but..."

"I love you."

She froze at his sudden confession.

"And I want Miguel to feel the same for his wife one day, after this painful time in his life is over. I don't want him to waste his life away simply enduring things. I want him to feel the way I feel about you. With you, the world... blast it, Inés Valeztena, the world you showed me is completely different. And you aren't as wicked as you imagine yourself to be. Just look at all the things you are doing here in

Mendoza for my sake. If you aren't a good person, then no one can get into heaven."

"I'm not doing this because I am a good person..." Inés confessed hurriedly. Inwardly, she continued that she wasn't doing anything nice, but that she was only doing all of this for their sake. That was all. Because she wanted to stay at his side and never lose him again. So in the end, everything I do for you is for my sake as well.

Cárcel quietly embraced her with his injured arm, so that she wouldn't be able to push him away. Inés buried her face against his chest as she hung her head even lower and sighed.

"Don't go." Her voice trembled ever so slightly.

"Inés."

"Don't go, Cárcel. It frightens me..." The horror she voiced was raw and real. It was the most sincere emotion she had ever shown him, even in the moments when she had broken down altogether.

Cárcel quickly put a hand against her cheek in shock.

She sat there, helplessly listening to her tongue let loose against her wishes as she leaned against his uninjured hand. She found herself exasperated at herself for asking him not to leave when she had already accepted the fact that he was going to war the moment she had seen him waiting for her in her bedroom. The fact that this was how she sincerely felt was even worse. Though she knew she could hide this deep-seated fear if she tried hard enough, a part of her was hoping she could sway him.

"I'll make sure Miguel does not have to be sold off to your aunt's bizarre stepdaughter."

"Inés."

"You just... stay in Calztela. We don't even have to be together, so..." Her desperate words trailed off.

Inés knew that the more she spoke, the more she was simply making his life harder. Her reason returned to its rightful place above her impulse.

Silence hung between them for a while until Cárcel finally spoke up. "I am sorry. Unlike you, I always want to be with you, Inés." He pressed his lips against the shell of her ear as if in apology. "And that is why I have to go. But this was not the way I meant to tell you. I am so sorry. I wanted to tell you first, but..."

"That is nothing to apologize for."

"I am sorry."

"Would you stop apologizing for things that are not your fault, Escalante?" Inés replied coldly as she straightened up and moved away from his embrace.

His flustered gaze followed her as she sighed and reassured him, "And I am not angry with you, so..."

"But you called me Escalante."

"Do you expect me to be happy about sending you to your death? Do you want me to rejoice at the thought of marrying some other man once you are dead?"

"I am not going to die. I will return to you. Alive."

"All right."

"And I will never allow you to remarry. All right?"

"No matter."

She put on an indifferent expression as though she were simply in a bad mood and went back to rummaging through his kit of medicine. Cárcel reached out to gently take her by the chin and make her look at him again. It was his injured hand, so she couldn't resist. His hand was barely touching her in case his blood got on her skin. Though compared to his large build, only a fraction of his body was injured, he looked so fragile in her eyes. Her heart softened, helpless against the look he gave her.

Inés let out another sigh as she said, "I know you did not have a choice in the matter."

"I did. I made this decision, Inés."

"What?"

"It had nothing to do with Miguel either. Avoiding this now won't guarantee my survival. I want to live alongside you for many years, Inés."

Inés narrowed her eyes at him.

"In other words, I want to reach a position where no one can easily kill me. I am doing all of this for that goal. I do not care whether they think I will die there. Even if-"

"The crown prince." For the first time, she pointed out the person they were both thinking of.

It seemed that he had been unable to name the person trying to kill him because he didn't dare blame the emperor. But Inés was now looking him straight in the eye and asking him about the shadow lurking behind the emperor. She was asking him whether he knew exactly who was out to get him. Their eyes locked fiercely.

"It is the crown prince. Right?" With the repeated question, her soft expression changed, as if she had taken off a mask.

Cárcel slowly took in the ferocious look in her eyes. There was heat in his gaze as it traveled down to her frowning lips.

"Yes, Inés. It is the crown prince."